


Kissing Turians

by AceQueenKing



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, First Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garrus Vakarian never actually thought about kissing humans, until he overheard Shepard joking about kissing turians with Ashley. </p><p>A couple of years ago he would have thought it was just a joke, but now? Now it's all he can think about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kissing Turians

_The first time he thinks about kissing Shepard, it is because Shepard herself puts the thought into his head._

Kissing turians, Shepard says.  _Kissing turians._

It's just an overheard remark, but its one his mind promptly explores, because he doesn’t know what kind of comment Ashley could have possibly made to bring  _that_  topic up.

_Kissing turians._

He actually has to duck underneath the Mako when Shepard moves on, so she doesn’t see the huge swath of blue spreading across his neck.

_Kissing turians._

Under the Mako, he indulges in thought – what would it be like, to...kiss? Her mouth is just…different. Odd. There’s…pink bits, puffy ones, and they move when she talks. _Lips,_ he thinks. They’re called lips. Asari have them.

Turians don’t, but he’s heard stories of what asari can do with them. Kisses and … _more_.

_Kissing turians._

His mandibles flare out in what would be a downright lecherous grin if he wasn’t stuck underneath 50 tons of metal with absolutely no way to relieve the tension rocketing through his veins.

Naturally, that’s the moment that Shepard arrives for one of her little chats.

To his surprise, she ducks down, squatting under the Normandy. “Hey, Garrus.”  
  
He hits his head on the left thruster of the Mako in response.

_Smooth._

Shepard’s hand goes to her mouth to cover her laughter. “Are you…OK?”  
  
He crawls out from under the Mako. “My pride took a hit, but…”  
  
He trails off when she holds a hand out, pulling a small square of fabric out of her fatigues and dabbing at the fuel that’s currently drilling down his face.

Garrus makes a mental note that he probably needs to replace a fuel line. Soon. Quite soon.  _Now,_ in fact, would be a  _great_  time, but he finds it all but impossible to move. It’s not just that Shepard is touching him, but the look on her face – her tongue poking between those little pink lips in concentration – all but makes it impossible to do anything but stare.

What would it be like, he wonders, to brush those lips with his finger? What would it be like to lean in, bring their faces together,and… _more_?

He feels the blush spreading across his throat and fights to keep it from showing.

Luckily, Shepard, being human, is damn oblivious to a male turian’s tells. She blots his neck with the cloth and smiles.

“There.” She stands back. “Good as new.”

“Uh, thanks…Commander.” He nods. “How can I help you?”  
  
“Just wanted to see how you’re doing.” She bangs the Mako’s armored shell. “You think you can get her running before we hit Therum?”  
  
“Absolutely.” He says.  _Provided you don’t run over any more Geth and I fix that fuel line._

“Good.” She smiles, then glances at her omni-tool. “Oops. I should go. See you later, Garrus.”  
  
As he drops back under the Mako, safe from further inquiries, his thoughts return to plates and skin.

\---

_The first time they kiss, it’s messy, chaotic drunken mistake._

By the time he gets up the courage to ask her just  _what_  that kissing turians conversation is all about, Saren is dead, the Reaper threat is momentarily set back, and he’s so sloshed he’s barely even able to sit.

“So uh…Commander…”   
  
“Yeah?” Judging by the way she’s swaying, she’s probably had a few too many herself. But what better way to celebrate the defeat of their enemies than by a minor case of alcohol poisoning?

At this point, he’s  _fairly_  certain they’re the only two left still drinking at the impromptu bar set up in the Normandy’s mess. But he certainly couldn’t say for sure… The room keeps spinning around too much.

“Y' remember when you and Ashley were talking about kissing turians?”  
  
“Oh, yeah!” She says, with an exuberance that he is quite sure only belongs to Shepard – especially after six shots of ryncol.

“What was all of that ab-” He starts to say, but Shepard interrupts him.

“Pucker up!” She shouts, and then he’s only distantly aware of the fact that she’s getting closer before she launches herself into his lap, her lips hitting his just milliseconds later.

His eyes go wide.

So… This is what kissing a human is like.

It’s …weird. But not…bad? But really, really  _weird._

Her lips are  _soft_. Very soft. Softer than any hide on a female turians body, except perhaps for the velvet softness between their legs. Her mouth presses against his, and he feels himself go still.

_Shit. Shit shit shit shit. What do I do?_

His first instinct is to throw her off of him, but he doesn’t. Ever since her kissing turians remark, he’s been curious. He’ll admit that.

But this is…unexpected.

He presses his lips to hers in a futile attempt to return it.

Shepard gasps a bit – a bad sign, he thinks – but then he feels something wet on his face. It takes his alcohol-fueled mind a few seconds to register that there is a new, wiggling thing attempting to gain entrance to his mouth, and a few more before he realizes that that pink, writhing thing currently lapping his mouthplates is  _her tongue._

He opens his, lets his long, blue tongue meet hers in a dance he’s a bit more familiar with. Her tongue is odd – flat, stubby,  _pink_ , but it’s writhing and bendy and  _flexible_  in a way he never imagined. His hands pull her tight to him and his brain short circuits.

_Did I pass out? I must be dreaming. This is just a dream. Just a dream. A really, really sexy dream._

She makes a surprisingly cute groaning noise and her hips move against him clumsily.

Garrus is suddenly very glad that his armor can mask certain..reactions, because his second instinct is to rut her into the damn table.

“Mwaaaaah,” She says, chuckling as they come up for air.  
  
“That one’s for Ash!” she says with a triumphant fist pump. Too stunned to argue, he just nods his head in agreement.

“Good?” she asks.

“Uh…yeah.”

“Good!” she grins, and with that, dismounts and goes back for another drink.

_I just kissed a human._

_No,_ he thinks.  _I just kissed Shepard._

“Garrus, what’s this purple stuff?”  
  
“That’s  _lora_. Oh, Shepard, don’t drink that, that’s dextro!”  
  
“Oh,” She grins, and hands him a cup. “’S for you then!”  
  
He downs the entire cup in one sip, in hopes that the alcohol will quench his suddenly roaring libido.

It doesn’t, but he has hope the next few might.

\- - -

A few hours later, he’s somewhat vaguely aware that the room is no longer spinning so much as  _throbbing_.

Every light in the Normandy has been turned on, and the entire ship is making some kind of buzzing noise that his skull does  _not_  appreciate.

His neck hurts, although he supposes that’s what he gets for falling asleep in the mess. He moves it from side to side, stretching the tendons, and ignores the way his stomach turns at each movement.

Shepard’s little better, splayed out like some sort of degenerate feast on the table in front of him.

“Hey,” She croaks.

“Hi.”  
  
“Did we do something stupid?”  
  
He blinks. “I don’t know.”  _What does she think we would do that is stupid?_  
  
“We didn’t paint ‘Fuck Saren’ on the Mako, did we?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Oh. Good.” She wipes her brow with her odd, five-fingered hand. “And we didn’t steal Joker’s cap and toss it out the airlock?”  
  
“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good.” She looks down. “I’m pretty sure we didn’t fuck.”  
  
“You sound surprised at that.”  
  
“I am, a bit.” She laughs. “Get kinda …affectionate when I get drunk. I didn’t do anything to you last night, did I?”  
  
“No,” he lies, stomach queasy for an entirely different reason.

“Good.” She licks her lips and grimaces. “My mouth tastes like ass.”  
  
“Charming.” He pushes off the table, trying to hide his disappointment with sarcasm. “Let’s get you something to drink.”  
  
He needs it too, he thinks, to drown out the memory that his mind won’t let him forget: his tongue on hers, her hips clumsily moving against his. Even clumsily, even stinking of alcohol, that kiss was _damn_ good.

Good enough not to forget, and that’s a problem, because he needs to, to  _just be_  her friend.

After a few  _loras_ , the memory dims enough to be bearable.

But there are moments, still, hours – days – later, when he thinks about it.

And when he thinks about plates on skin, her arms holding tight against him as he moves, her mouth and kiss colliding in a new yet achingly familiar dance, his skin is on fire.

The thought, even through the haze, is still potent enough to ruin him for any other thought, for hours at a time.

His first – and, as it turns out, last – week back on C-SEC is filled with many, many sleepless nights.

\- - -

_The second time they kiss, he damn well makes sure she remembers._

A week later, he is kissing the rim of a glass in a piss-hole bar on Omega.

Shepard’s dead.

Gone.

He pays for his drink, drinks it, buys another. He drinks to mourn, both for himself, and for a woman – and a memory – he can’t save.

After several drinks, he leaves – or tries to, at least. There’s a commotion at the front, two krogan kicking the shit out of a young turian.

Full of rage and a desire to save  _someone – anyone –_ he decks the first krogan, knocking him back. “That’s for Shepard!” He howls. The younger turian uses the distraction to slug the other and cover Garrus’ back.

With someone covering his six, it’s easy for Garrus and the kid to take out the Krograns.

He wonders, idly, with horrible drunken clarity, if it would have been different if he had had Shepard’s back when it counted.

“Lantar Sidonis.” The kid says, and holds out a hand.

“Garrus.” He says, and smiles.

Maybe he couldn’t save Shepard, but at least he can save Sidonis.

\- - -

Two years later, Sidonis is gone, his hideout reeks of betrayal, and Shepard is still dead.

He’s pretty close to it himself, he thinks, until he catches an N7 mark glittering in his scope.

And then…he isn’t.

And she isn’t, either.

And the dreams of kisses – and more, so much more – come back with a vengeance.

\- - -

And then she tells him  _you’re carrying a lot of tension_ and  _I could help you get rid of that_  and  _We could test your reach and my flexibility_  and spirits, he doesn’t even mind that it’s a bad line because his heart is too busy exploding out of his chest.

Somehow, he manages to say  _yes_.

Then there’s months of deep-set panic, and more than a few panicked conversations about if she’s sure she wants him.

And she always says  _yes._

When she finally touches him for the first time, his skin is on fire. It’s ridiculous, because her arm is caressing his keel  _through the armor_ , but it does. Every nerve ending in his chest squeezes tight.

And he knows it’s just a matter of time.

\- - -

When that time comes, he is worrying over nothing.

When they lean in together, things simply  _go right._ His mouth plates press up against her lips in a heated embrace, and there are no drunken paeans to lost comrades. They don’t even drink the wine.

They don’t need it.

Instead, it’s his lips on hers, and this is all he can think of as they stumble toward her bed.

It no longer feels weird, though it’s still different.

It just feels like coming home.

Every time he kisses her, he feels Trebia’s undying warmth in her lips; every bit of her skin revealing new, uncharted lands. And while she’s alien, and weird, and different – it’s still her. It’s still Shepard, and Shepard is his home, now.

He kisses her again and again as they tumble onto her bed, an unspoken promise on his lips.

Kissing turians, he thinks, is the best thing she’s ever said.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt fic, written for obsidiancoeur.
> 
> The prompts were:
> 
>  **Mamihlapinatapei** \- The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move.
> 
>  **Cheiloproclitic** -Being attracted to someones lips.]


End file.
